


"Yes Master"

by ChubbinLovin (TinyBibliophile)



Series: Coming Home to You [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Chubstuck, F/M, Fatstuck, Homestuffed, Maid Cafe, Master/Servant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stuffing, Weight Gain, fat kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 12:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyBibliophile/pseuds/ChubbinLovin
Summary: While home for the summer, you decided it's probably best to pick up some kind of seasonal work. You unwittingly land one at a new maid cafe in town, and Dave convinces you to take the job. Turns out he had his reasons.





	"Yes Master"

**Author's Note:**

> *Sweats*
> 
> These just get more and more shameless as they progress, huh? I just really love the whole master/servant dynamic for feeding shit, especially when the "master" is the submissive one.

Like most college students home for the summer, you decided it would probably best to pick up a job for the duration of your stay in town. However, the influx of students in need of seasonal work made for a hard time finding anything that didn't absolutely suck. On your hunt you stumbled on a brand new cafe that had just opened and put it an application.

It wasn’t until you took the job that you realized what kind of cafe it was.

All the servers and hostesses were female, and all of about the same age range. Few were older than thirty. None younger than eighteen. All were expected to wear the same uniform: a risque little maid’s dress complete with apron, dainty little gloves, and frilly stockings. At first you considered turning the job down at the last minute.

Dave convinced you otherwise. “It’ll be pretty hard to find another job with all the other students in town,” he reasoned as the two of you sat cuddled together on his couch. “Besides, I bet gross old men tip really well.”

You fake gagged, but managed to laugh afterwards. He had a point, you thought. You accepted the job and the uniform, and they scheduled your first day of training.

By training, they mostly meant learning your scripts. For example, they had to address all their customers as “Master” or “Mistress,” and serve them as if they were such. Being demure and coy was encouraged, because it tended to loosen their wallets a bit. Accordingly, there was a brief lecture on how to deal with more… unruly customers.  For flirty or otherwise sexual remarks, they were taught a few responses like “I prefer not to mix business with pleasure.” As for ones who dared to get handsy, that was strictly against the cafe’s rules. The moment they put a hand on you in any way, you were permitted to have them escorted out. That was a relief.

All in all the job wasn’t that bad. Your coworkers were nice, and most customers were polite enough. Apparently there were a lot of subtle nuances that went into the etiquette of a maid cafe. Most of the patrons were well dressed, well mannered, called her “Darling” and tipped her generously.  A few took the role play in a less polite direction. Some preferred the part of the spoiled, downright rude master. Those were even worse than the handsy ones, because there was technically nothing you could do about it. As for the odd customer who got brave enough to grab your ass or rub your thigh, they were swiftly and gracefully ushered out.

That day had been slow, and you were busying yourself gathering teacups and dainty China plates from freshly emptied tables. You actually perked up a bit when the little bell tinkled above the door. Never had you expected to be excited to hear a customer come in, bored as you were. When you saw who it was, your face flushed deeply.

Dave stood tall over the petite hostess as she took a menu and asked if he wanted a booth or a table. You couldn’t hear his response, but as he spoke he nodded his head in your direction. The hostess looked at you over your shoulder briefly before giving a customary bow and leading him to a table in your area.  As soon as he was seated she skittered over to you, her heels clicking daintily on the floor. “Do you know that guy?” she hissed, so as not to be overheard. “He asked for you specifically. He said ‘just sit me wherever (Y/N) is serving.’”

Your stomach fluttered, having something of an idea where this was going. You shrugged, biting back a smile. “He’s an… acquaintance.”

She gave you an uncertain look. “I can sit him somewhere else if you-”

“No,” you cut in quickly, dropping off your load of used dishes and smoothing your apron. “It’s fine, really. He’s a good guy.”

Her nose wrinkled a little bit, but she breathed a sigh. “If you say so. He just seems kinda shady with those sunglasses of his. If he gives you any trouble…”

“Trust me,” you assured her, pouring water from a pitcher into a crystalline glass. “He won’t.”

You brought the glass over to his table and gave your customary little curtsy, never looking away from his pretty, pudgy face. The restaurant was decorated like a Victorian tea parlor, everything small and dainty. Likewise, so was the furniture.  The table he sat at was all but dwarfed by his big, heavy belly, the sides of his ass spilling over the edges of his chair. He seemed acutely aware of this, squirming and shifting in his seat with the subtlest flush in his cheeks. He looked at you through his shades as if to say “why didn’t you warn me that everything was dollhouse-sized?”

You smiled at him like you would've any other customer, your hands clasped in front of you. “How may I serve you today, Master?”

That subtle flush flared a few shades brighter, and he cleared his throat. “(Y/N), it’s just me… You don’t have to-”

You shushed him with a coy little wink. Then, seeming to catch on, he smirked a little and wet his lips in that nervous, expectant way that he always did. He sat up a little straighter as if to appear more dignified, but the effect was broken by the screech of the table legs against the floor as the movement of his fat belly pushed it an inch or so forwards.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed, and fiddled idly with his menu. “Just a coffee,” he stammered out, his seat creaking meekly under the nervous shift of his wide ass, almost as if to say "yeah right."

“That’s all?” you teased, your pretty fingers dancing across the top of his menu. “But Master, just look at you… you must be  _ famished _ .” He gulped, his legs squeezing together, the fabric of his jeans creaking around the girth of his thighs “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll take good care of you. And call me  _ Darling.” _

You spun around to leave, your skirt twirling around your stocking-clad thighs as you clipped away on your heels. You dared a glance at him over your shoulder: his pudgy face was red as could be, his lips quivering, parting and closing rhythmically with a mix of nerves and lust. You just wished you could see his eyes.  When you returned it was with a tray balanced on your hand. You cocked your hip to let the tray rest against it while you took plate after plate of tiny desserts off of it and set them before him. Cookies, cakes, finger sandwiches, and the like. And, lastly, one cup of coffee already drowned in sugar and cream, just the way he liked it.

“I know this won’t be  _ nearly _ enough to satisfy you,” you purred, holding the empty tray to your chest. “But don’t worry, Master, I’ll be back with more.”

You saw the faint outline of his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and nodded, sipping from his coffee as if to keep from saying something stupid. You waited expectantly, and he finally took the hint. “Thank you, Darling.”

With Dave being one of your few customers that afternoon, you were attentive to his every whim. You continuously filled his glass of water, and the second he cleared one plate of treats you swooped in and replaced it with another. He didn’t even have the time to finish licking his fingers clean.

As the light outside began to fade into evening, most of the other employees were sent home to keep from racking up expenses. You were forced to stay, since you were still serving a customer; besides that, it was your turn to close. Normally this was something you dreaded, but as the last hour of business ticked by, you were so close to having the whole cafe to yourself. No customers or servers. Just Dave.

All the desserts were ordered in too to avoid hiring cooks, so even the kitchen was empty. Perfect. The last person to leave was the hostess, looking at you warily. “Are you sure you’ll be okay here by yourself? And with that guy? I could stay. I’ll even help you close if you want.”

“Don’t worry,” you insisted confidently. “He’s a real gentleman. Besides, I’m sure the last thing you want is to be stuck here for another hour and a half.”

“If you say so,” she chuckled meekly, glancing at Dave one last time as he sipped on his water. “He’d better tip you well after staying so long.” She leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in your ear. “I’ve never seen a customer eat _so much_. It’s kind of incredible, really.”

That it was.

With one final goodbye, she left. You were quick to lock the door after she was gone, turn the sign from “Open” to “Closed,” and draw the curtains. Dave was polishing off his fourth plate of assorted cookies, leaning back and rubbing his full, bloated belly when he noticed this.  “Time for you to kick me out?” he drawled, dropping the charade.

You, however, weren’t finished yet. “I could never kick you out,  _ Master _ ,” you cooed teasingly, making his lips quiver their way into a mischievous smile. “Especially not when you haven’t eaten your fill yet.”

At that he squirmed, and you could barely see the black strip of his belt stretched and buried under his full, flabby middle section. “I’m not sure I can eat another bite,” he groaned, and you grinned mischievously.

“We both know that’s not true. It’s alright, Master: just admit what a big, fat glutton you are~.”

His breath caught as you agonized those last words. Then, you moved the table away from his food-inflated belly and slid delicately to your knees. He watched, slipping his shades off now so you could see his hazy, gorgeous eyes. It was a chore to find the buckle of his belt underneath the thick fat of his muffin top, and even more so to undo it, but you managed. His hefty gut surged forward with the relief, and he sighed blissfully.

A strip of pale, pudgy skin peaked out underneath the hem of his shirt, now released from it’s leather prison. With a hum, you peppered kisses over the pliant flesh and squeezed it between your fingers. “Don’t you own any clothes that fit properly?” you taunted, tilting your hooded eyes up at him. “Or do you just keep outgrowing them that quickly?”

He swallowed, covering his mouth to stifle a soft moan. “It’s hard not to when you spoil me like this,  _ Darling _ .”

You smirked, flicking your tongue out to stroke it softly over the squishy flesh of his lower stomach, all the way up to his squashed belly button. “Excuses,” you snickered out, finally standing to your feet and cocking your hip confidently to the side. “As if you need my help.”  Cupping either side of his full face, you leaned forward and pecked him on the lips. “Not that I mind it. I love when you overindulge.” Then you were gone, disappearing into the kitchen.

You pulled out a hefty cake from the fridge, layers of the soft, spongy batter held together by thick mascarpone cream. The top was covered in berries and dusted with powdered sugar. You cut a huge slice from the cake, one that was nearly a third of the whole thing. You placed it on a plate, snagged a fork, and returned to Dave’s side. He looked at the dessert in your hand with a mix of arousal and hesitation. He was already so full.

The second you sat yourself down on his lap, just one of his thighs big enough to be a seat in its own right, the hesitation vanished altogether. You plucked a berry from the top of the cake and held it up to his mouth, guiding it slowly passed his lips and onto his tongue.

He groaned, staring into your eyes as you withdrew your index finger from his mouth. His hands had moved to your hips, steadying you against his body while you fed him. You dipped your finger into the cream filling and encouraged him to lick it off. Even with his belly spilling over his lap and  pressing against your legs, obscuring his crotch, you knew he was hard just from the way he panted and moaned. You just wondered for  _how long._

You fed him slowly, sensually, one forkful at a time. His hands caressed the silky material of your skirt and the fine mesh of your thigh-high stockings. Halfway through the gigantic slice, he took a deep, labored breath, and you both jolted when you heard a snap that punctuated the near-silence.

“Was that-”

“My pants,” he finished, his cheeks cherry red and his voice a breathless, tinny whine. “The button just broke a-and I think-...” He gulped, moving a hand and struggling to find the seam of his inner thigh. "Yeah," he whispered hotly, "I tore them too~..."

You rolled your hips a little bit, fighting down a gleeful smile. “You really are such a glutton… how many pairs of jeans does that make?”

You knew full well that both of you had lost count by that point.

Gradually the last half of the slice disappeared, each bite making him shudder with pleasure. Once it was gone he licked his lips and released out a light, shaky breath; you swiped your finger over a little dab of mascarpone stuck to the corner of his mouth and swiped your tongue over it before popping it in yours. He whined lustfully as you snuggled into his belly, gripping his love handles and giving them a tentative shake. When you slipped your hands over the outside of his thighs, you realized those seams had started to wear too. You dipped your fingers in and out of the holes, the flabby skin molding to your touch as it tried to push its way out of the tight restraints.

After a long few moments of this, you left him to doze and digest a bit so you could blitz through the laziest closing job you’d ever done. You wanted to get him home quickly so you could… wait. You had a better idea. Once you’d finished tidying up the modest little cafe, you prodded him awake before sitting on the table you’d pushed backwards, your legs parted as you lifted your skirt just the slightest bit.  Your gaze said all that needed to be said. 

“Here?” he choked out, though he didn’t exactly sound opposed to the idea. Just… shocked. You nodded in reply, watching every agonizing jiggle and shake of his body as he fumbled to his feet, still full from his afternoon of sugary treats. 

He battled with his jeans just to get them down his fat, luscious hips so they dropped to the ground; you relieved yourself of your underwear. You laid back, waiting expectantly as he shimmied his boxers down and positioned himself. He had to lift his belly and rest it atop you just to be able to move himself inside, both sensations making you quiver and whine with erotic delight.

“Mmnf,” you whimpered as he began to move, his pace a bit sluggish. Despite that, he was panting already, his face a deep crimson. “What’s wrong, Master?” you began, and his breath hitched before warbling into a pleasured groan. “Don’t tell me you’re already tired… maybe you  _ indulged _ a little too much.” You grinned wryly, and he did the same, though his brows pinched together in concentration. “Shame on you, being so gluttonous and letting yourself get so  _ big and fat _ . What ever am I going to do with you?”

“Nngh, fuck, (Y/N)-,” he stuttered out, his eyes already starting to roll with pleasure, squeezing tightly shut. “O-oh my god, k-keep going… keep talking…”

“You were so eager to stuff yourself silly like a greedy pig,” you encouraged, now lifting your own hips for more sensation. It did little good though, considering how his huge muffin top weighed you down. “No wonder you got to such a size. You’re  _ massive _ ~.”

“F-f-fuck!” he exclaimed in a pleasured yelp, making a few final thrusts before before pulling out. Most of his seed spilled onto his own shirt, stretched desperately over his big, fat belly, but a few drops sullied your uniform.

“Damn,” you panted, coming down from your own orgasm, “guess I’ll have to take this home and wash it.”

“You’re allowed to wear that or nothing at all for the rest of the night,” he gasped huskily, struggling to lean forward over his own hefty bulk and meld his mouth to yours. When you parted, you grinned at him giddily.

“Yes Master~.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this.


End file.
